Hypocrite's Isle (8 page)

‘Then it’s mine too,’ announced Simmons.

‘Yep, I’ll go with that,’ agreed Martin. ‘Mark that down as two more for the cat’s litter tray, Liz.’

‘It’s called
Serenity
,’ said Liz in a stage whisper, wide-eyed and pointing with her finger to the adjoining office door to warn them that Graham Sutcliffe hadn’t yet left.

At that moment the door opened and Sutcliffe appeared with his overcoat on, briefcase in hand. ‘Hello, you two. Still here?’

‘We were trying to decide on a painting, Graham,’ said Simmons. ‘We’ve both gone for
Serenity
.’

‘Good, that was my feeling too … it has a certain something … a haunting quality, I thought.’ Sutcliffe took a long, admiring look at the painting before smiling enigmatically and sweeping out.

Martin took up stance in front of the painting, put a hand on one hip and a forefinger to his lips before saying, ‘You know … I think he’s hit the nail on the head … a haunting quality.’

‘Out of here, you two,’ said Liz.

Martin and Simmons left the building together after deciding on a beer, and walked slowly up to the Greyfriars Bobby pub, where they found the bar in the lull between after-work drinkers leaving and evening crowds arriving. Martin plumped himself down at a table while Simmons ordered beer and brought it over.

Martin took a slurp and grunted appreciatively. ‘Seems like Graham’s got it in for your Gavin.’

‘Gavin and the establishment are natural enemies, and you don’t get any more establishment than Graham.’

‘Or more “anti” than Gavin by all accounts.’

‘He doesn’t do much forelock-touching,’ agreed Simmons, who was developing a growing liking for Gavin. ‘But he’s more than just your average rebel without a cause.’

‘So what was the mugging incident all about? Or were you just protecting him from Graham?’

‘No, he really didn’t start the fight. He screwed up his cell cultures the other day and responded in typical Gavin style. He threw all the toys out the pram and went off on an all-day bender. He ended up getting mugged.’

‘Was he badly hurt?’

‘Three broken ribs and a face like he headbutted the Forth Bridge, but he still came into the lab to set up an experiment.’

‘Good for him.’

‘I was impressed too. I think that’s really why I stuck up for him when Graham started having a go.’

‘Oh what a tangled web we weave …’

Simmons smiled. ‘Don’t we just. What do you think of the new journal club proposal?’

Martin took a sip of his beer. ‘There aren’t many arses in the department that Peter Morton-Brown hasn’t kissed in the last two years. This is just his latest ploy to get himself noticed. He’s sure as shit not going to do it through scientific brilliance. I was on his first-year assessment panel. As an investigator he couldn’t find his dick in his trousers.’

‘Destined for high office then.’

‘It can only be a matter of time before he appears on telly, assuring the great British public that there is absolutely nothing to be alarmed about.’

‘Mmm,’ said Simmons. ‘The trouble is we’ll now be aiding and abetting him, recommending that our own students attend and saying what a good idea it all is.’

‘Gavin might provide an interesting take on that …’

‘Please! I don’t even want to think about it …’ said Simmons.

‘Really? … I thought you might find it strangely haunting …’

‘You’re late,’ said Jenny Simmons, standing at the sink as her
husband
came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms round her waist from behind. She moved her neck slightly away from his embrace as if to underline her annoyance.

‘Sorry. There was a staff meeting and then I had a beer with Jack.’

‘You two are a bad influence on each other.’

‘Staff meetings are a bad influence on both of us. I think they must be sponsored by the brewing industry. Sutcliffe was having a real go at Gavin and it really pissed me off.’

‘If you ask me, it’s about time someone had a go at Gavin.
Worrying
about that boy seems to take up so much of your time these days. Is he really worth the hassle?’

‘There have been times when I did wonder myself but yes, I think he is. I’m beginning to think … he’s got it.’

‘Got what? A chip on his shoulder the size of Ben Nevis?’

Simmons shushed her. ‘I know you two got off on the wrong foot but –’

‘The wrong foot!’ exclaimed Jenny. ‘The first time he came here he got hopelessly drunk and was sick all over the cat!’

‘Like I say, the wrong foot, and I’m not pretending that he doesn’t have shortcomings. He has. Lots. But just lately I think I see a glimpse of … that special something in him.’

‘What special something?’

‘The something that makes you a researcher. The thing that makes you more than just someone who can remember a lot of facts and figures and pass exams. You either have it or you don’t, and so many people who end up in research don’t.’

‘That’s a bit of a sweeping condemnation.’

‘Maybe, but it’s true. Don’t worry: they don’t know they don’t have it. They don’t even know it exists, and what you never had you never miss. You can have degrees coming out your ears, but if you don’t have that extra something that enables you to think in a certain way, you’re never going to do anything more than dot other people’s
is
and cross other people’s
t
s, however much you dress it up – and many do become quite adept at dressing it up.’

‘I take it you have this something?’ asked Jenny, turning to look at her husband.

Simmons let her go. ‘I thought I did, but these days I’m not so sure. I seem to spend most of my time on administrative chores, form filling and writing reviews. I bitch about it but maybe I’m using it as an excuse because I’ve run out of ideas …’

‘Oh, come on. You’re a top man in your field. You have the respect of your peers. You have a list of publications as long as your arm, and in journals that many of them would kill to get their work into, so stop talking nonsense. You’ve always been too modest for your own good. However well you did, it was never good enough for
you
. That’s one of the reasons I married you. I knew you were never going to end up stalking the corridors of power in a smart suit, checking the New Year Honours list to see if you were on it, but you were clever, funny, imaginative, honest – perhaps too honest for the environment you’re in – and you genuinely cared about sick people and what might make things better for them. That makes you an ace person in my book – unless of course, you don’t get your arse up the stairs in the next thirty seconds and read our children a story, in which case, I just might divorce you and bring in a man in a suit.’

Simmons smiled and nodded. ‘On my way.’

 

Later, as they sat having dinner, Jenny asked, ‘Have you heard about the extent of Gavin’s injuries yet?’

‘I talked to him this afternoon. He came in to set up some cultures.’

‘Gosh, that was keen. You seemed to have enough trouble getting him to come in to the lab when he was perfectly healthy. What’s brought about the change?’

‘I don’t think there’s actually been a change, although he was hugely embarrassed about having screwed up the cultures the first time round. It’s true I expected him to be just like all the others, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he started back in October – you know the sort of thing, in first in the morning, making himself busy about the lab, generally creating a good impression as new students usually do – but Gavin doesn’t think that way. He doesn’t
do
good impressions. I thought he was skiving but he wasn’t; he was
thinking
about the project and how best to approach it. He simply didn’t do anything in the lab until he came up with something worth doing.’

‘And now he has?’

Simmons nodded. ‘And I suspect he’ll be prepared to work night and day if necessary to see it through – without any prompting from me.’

‘So why was Graham having a go at him?’

‘We ask the postgrad students to participate in the undergrad teaching programme – it’s supposed to give them teaching
experience
. Graham asked Gavin to take a first-year class and he refused. Now Graham’s afraid some of the others might follow suit.’

‘That sounds so like Gavin,’ said Jenny. ‘Setting out to make an enemy of the head of department … and you maintain he’s bright?’

‘The teaching is voluntary …’

‘But surely he can see –’

‘That he should play the game?’ interrupted Simmons. ‘Oh yes, he can see that. He just refuses to play it.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘On his own head be it … but surely the meeting wasn’t all about Gavin?’

Simmons told her about the BBC planning to visit the department.

‘Great. Does this mean you’re going to be on
Horizon
, holding up a test tube and gazing into the middle distance, while a soothing voice explains just how you made the breakthrough?’

‘No, I’ve nothing to tell them.’

‘How did I know you were going to say that?’ smiled Jenny. ‘What about Mary’s stuff? You were singing her praises the other day. She’s writing it up for publication, isn’t she?’

Simmons nodded. ‘Sure, and it’s a very nice piece of work, but it’s technical progress. It’s only relevant to scientists in the field. It has no bearing on anything that would matter to the general public.’

‘Couldn’t you sex it up to make it seem that way? You know, Edinburgh scientists in cancer breakthrough … hopefully in three to five years’ time this will lead to significant new treatments …’

‘I could but I’m not going to,’ said Simmons flatly. ‘You know how I feel about that rubbish.’

Jenny looked at him and smiled. ‘God, you rise to the bait so easily. I can never resist …’

 

Gavin left the flat at just after nine the next morning and set out to walk to the lab. He was sore, but the pain was offset to some extent by the fact that it was such a pretty morning, with the sun
shining
on the castle ramparts as he crossed Princes Street at the
junction
with Hanover Street and started up the Mound. The Norway Spruce Christmas tree – a traditional present to the city from the Norwegian government – was already in place near the top
awaiting
the night, coming soon, when its lights would be
ceremoniously
switched on by some local celebrity.

He couldn’t help but think that the decorations he could see on the lamp-posts in Princes Street paled into insignificance against the natural beauty of the frost on the grass in Princes Street Gardens. Their presence, however, reminded Gavin that he had still not
decided
whether to go home for Christmas or stay here in Edinburgh.

He knew he’d been putting it off because he’d been hoping that Caroline might invite him home with her to the Lake District – but that, of course, was now out of the question. Whether it had ever been a real possibility was open to conjecture, and he was well aware that falling heavily for someone, as he had done for Caroline, could lead to a sense of the unreal intruding on his grasp of things. He’d been finding it all too easy to fantasise about walking through snow-covered woods in Cumbria with his arm round her as they sought out holly berries and sprigs of mistletoe to bring home and decorate a room where a log fire burned bright, filling the air with its scent. He saw them sipping mulled wine and cuddling up on the couch while Caroline’s parents – who had taken to him instantly – smiled benevolently and exchanged knowing glances of approval about a possible future son-in-law.

That fantasy had been destroyed. Caroline would be going home for Christmas, but she would be travelling alone to a house where overwhelming sadness would preside like a blanket of fog, where people would find it difficult to say anything and long silences would prevail, despite forced attempts to avoid them. Cancer would be spending Christmas with Caroline and her family, not him.

‘You shouldn’t be here. I told you I would check your cultures,’ said Mary Hollis when she saw Gavin come in to the lab.